Clover
by TarTarIcing
Summary: While resting in a safehouse, Price tells his tale about Gaz and how it all leads to Ghost. Some things Soap wouldn't even know. IMPLIED SLASH
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own COD4 or MW2, if I did, Roach, Ghost and Gaz would be alive right now. Some facts may seem altered or wrong if you have read the Ghost comic.

WARNING: IMPLIED SLASH AHEAD

* * *

"_First Leaf: Introduction_"

Captain Price

_Baku, Iran_

_2016_

Price stood outside; his arms and hands lax and hanging to the side. He raised his eyes to the sky, how broken the clouds seemed and what golden sunset showed underneath. It was like him, all of him. Below him was tall, spring green grass. Some weeds protruded, being straw in color and frayed. That matched him too, but below them was pink and white faded flowers with dark thin stems and slivered thin leaves. He lowered his view, and bent down into the green, green vegetation.

There it was…A four-leafed clover. It just sprouted there, in the middle of all the grass, weeds and flora. He let out a sigh and pinched it off the ground. The Englishman straightened himself up, observed it and held it with both hands to his chest. He closed his eyes and exhaled, knowing he found something good until…

"PRICE!"

Captain Price snapped his eyes open and ran. Not the "military warm-up" run, but the "save-my-life" run. He burst through Cherry Oak door of the house with a kick and sprinted left into the bedroom. Their safehouse was a Cherry Oak home, but it was single story and sturdy. Price didn't care because Soap recently healed past Critical Condition, but it was still critical in a sense…

The room smelled of week-old sweat, blood and horridly ancient ointment. Soap laid like a log on his bed, but face-up under a gaudy bright red fleece throw. He had been on bed rest for three days. He never knew it, but Price's eyes teared because of HIS smell.

He had only the strength to croak, "I…Want…Water!" His words ended in a coughing fit and Price burst out to get a water bottle and come back. Unfortunately, Nikolai wasn't here because he had gone to get supplies and clothes. Now, it was just Price and Soap. Two's a company indeed. '_At least it's better than the Gulag,'_ Price thought as he unscrewed the cap, bent down and gave it to Soap.

"I'm…Not…That…*_Ack_! Disabled…" Soap hacked as he gulped down a fourth of the bottle. His Scottish accent made him sound like a frog, which was definitely unhealthy, so Price couldn't laugh right now.

"You need your strength now; don't yap so much," Price admonished as he straightened the four-leafed clover in his hand. He had squished it during his sprint from outside to here. He seated himself in a Douglas Fir rocking chair. Seconds after, Soap was struggling to get his shoulders up in an attempt to see that "green thing" he was holding. Price rushed over to him and gently pushed him down, whispering, "No, no, no."

"What this ais," he continued enthusiastically, "Ais a four-leafed clover. It brings good luck, see."

He held it up in Soap's face, which his only response was to blink and nod slightly. Lifting the enthusiastic veil, he asked in a blunt drone, "How do you feel?"

"Ti—red…" Soap groaned, "I miss Ghost…"

"Oh," Price sighed out of sympathy, "I'm sorry." He grabbed the rocking chair and lifted it over to Soap's side. The situation seemed a little more serious now that the Cherry Oak walls shined in the setting sun.

"Mmmm…He was my best friend," Soap added," He was brilliant…"

For reason, that struck Price coincidental. He held the clover and plucked a leaf from it, whispering the name Gaz. His beautiful brilliant Gaz.

Soap cocked his head, "How do you feel?" He parroted it in spite to see how Price would react. What he got instead was an eyebrow raising curiosity. He stretched his head to it, even though the pain burned at his neck. Again Price would push him down, whispering not to do that.

"Did you ever think Ghost was like…Gaz, Soap?"

"Yes," Soap gasped.

"Have you even thought _why_?" emphasizing why.

"Well," Soap's eyes rolled left, "No…Uh, yeah. Sometimes I made little mini-theories in my head. Like how he," Soap coughed, *_Ack_! Got shot in the back, got amnesia and put a mask on, but I knew inside they were never gonna be true no matter what." He breathed heavily and grabbed his water bottle, chugging as if there wasn't a tomorrow, like it didn't exist.

"Close, but no cigar, my boy. It goes back way farther than that."

"So it's coincidence?"

"Wrong again. I remember Gaz told me about this."

"So Gaz is actually in the picture?"

"Bingo, but don't you want to learn how he and I met first?"

"Don't mind if I do. Can't bloody move."

"Okay, in 1999…

* * *

Credenhill, UK

_SAS 22__nd__ Regiment_

_1999_

Captain Price sat in his seat, in his comfy study. He was surrounded by shelves of hardbound books, most of which he read thoroughly and satisfactorily. He was writing on a cream-laid, lined notebook, which contained snippets like his thoughts, feelings, numbers, who was in trouble and where to go. He only dotted an I when…

BZZZZT! BZZZZT! The telecom buzzed and the Captain broke his pencil in anger. He pecked at the button and yelled, "What is it now, dumbass?"

The telecom brayed, "It's Langley. There's a FNG for you to meet…"

"That's it?" Price calmed down.

"Who's the dumbass now?"

"Oh come on!" Price flared up again.

"Just go to the goddamn warehouse!"

"Sheesh…"

In combat fatigues, a boonie hat and black combat boots, he walked cross-armed into the warehouse. In it was a lanky redhead whose head was off Price's by an inch. He had glasses and a small nose with brown eyes. Equipped with a MP5, in DPM Lowa trousers and a black frizz sweater, this was Langley, the Comms sergeant.

In a nerdy Scottish voice, Langley announced, "This behind me is the FNG, he was in the British Army, then the SAS Air Troop, then Mountain and now here. He was a decorated soldier and very talented at generally most firearms. I'd like you to meet Gary Smitter!"

When Langley stepped away, an even smaller man appeared. He was a little thicker then Langley, so his face was round but long. His eyes were a bright pale blue and his nose was quite big. His hair had straight swept bangs, so it was dark brown, almost black. He had only stubble and his eyes seemed quite big for a moment. He wore what Langley wore, but had a G36C and a Sig Sauer pistol. His hands were flat and in front of his lap. It was cute that Price saw him blush a little bit. _'It does bring out his cheeks,'_ he thought.

A cockney voice cracked, "Y-you can call me Gaz. What's your name…sir?"

Price could do nothing but stare. It took a lot of holding in of his lower jaw. The temptation of dropping it burned, since he could feel his own teeth clatter. He never was so surprised in his military career. First he expected a giant ruffian who never gave a shit about cute; now he sees a short, totally corruptible face whose eyes were pseudo-childish. He had to admit this new FNG was handsome with a capital H. And that smile! He just smiled! _'Is he a joke? What am I gonna say to THIS guy?'_ he freaked out, but mentally.

Langley whispered and pointed to the freezing Price, "I am sorry for any inconvenience, Trooper. Our captain just has a 'technical' difficulty right now."

"I'm okay," Gaz chirped in reply, "Leaders are nervous, too eh?" His voice was like melted butter, soft and smooth. It was also low and lilted, typical of a London cockney accent. He tilted his head to Langley, who agreed, "Yes, it's not just FNG's like you."

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," Gaz smiled, while Captain Price slowly unfroze and crossed his arms, regaining a serious composure. An expressionless frown crossed his face and his eyes locked onto him.

"What bloody plain name for a muppet 'ike you ta 'ave," Price raised his voice, "Gaz…My name is Price. Have you went through everything else?"

"Yes," Gaz faced him with an innocent visage, "Yes, I did. Anything else for me to do?" He nodded in respect; hands still in front of him.

Price looked toward the mock cargo ship and explained, "This here is the CQB test, you climb up to the mock helicopter deck, get your flashbangs, frags and ammo and you will slide down the rope on my go. Your time limit is under sixty seconds and what you'll do is obvious. Do you understand? If you do, just climb up and Langley and I will watch you." Without an answer, Gaz shimmied up the ladder, got everything he needed and held the rope.

"Are you ready?" Gaz nodded and pitched a thumb up. Price couldn't hear the sigh, but barked go and clicked the timer.

He dove down and jumped onto the floor. There, the paper target fell down in one shot as he darted in and dashed past the wall. The second the captain barked his command was the same second he followed it. Every move was swift and brutal. Before he knew it, Gaz made a mad dash to the finishing red circle, only to stop on the ball of his foot. It looked like he was going to trip, but he didn't.

Price clicked the timer again to only lose grip of it. The small yellow thing slipped under the table and he scrambled to get it. During the process he hit his head and cursed to himself and sat back up. Langley could only whisper, "Gaz is coming. Tell him the time."

Price looked at the timer and only read what's on it: nineteen seconds. Another shock to his military career! First this beautiful FNG comes in and now sets the record! How beautiful is he? He could only drone, because he was nearly speechless, "You have set the record—nineteen seconds. Congratulations."

"W-what?" Gaz piped in sheepishly, "I…Did?"

Langley chuckled, "It's here on the clipboard, timer and tely. Take a look." Gaz could only look in bewilderment as he looked at everything. After sending both him and Langley for lunch, Price tapped Gaz on the shoulder.

"Oh 'allo," Gaz responded cheerfully.

"Welcome to the SAS, pal…" was all Price could wring out from his thoughts. Later he wrote all of this in great detail in his personal journal, also including notes that he liked him.

* * *

"Whoa you froze?" Soap asked.

"No shit, Sherlock," Price retorted, blushing, "You would if you saw him."

"No…" Soap slurred, "…Wonder." His need to sleep took over as his eyes fell shut and his torso fell on the bed. He was tired, so Price looked forward and rocked steadily in his chair, thinking what the hell just happened at those years 'til now.

* * *

A/N: Read and review please!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't know what to say about this one. It's not as slashy as the first. I had a hard time changing the name from Ghost to Simon Riley because I kept on writing Ghost on the rough draft. I just put this chapter because it's important to see how Ghost, (bleh, Riley!), became like Gaz in some ways over time. This had a LOT of editing to it.

* * *

"Second Leaf: Refinement"

Next morning, Soap smelled something. It wasn't blood or ointment, but actual food; not MRE's mind you. He opened his eyes and looked around, there was Nikolai at the stove. A crispy meat scent mingled along with a hint of umami. Soap shouted, "Mornin' Nikolai!"

"Oi!" Nikolai greeted back, "Just relax, bacon and eggs will be ready soon."

"Oh hey, Price," Soap greeted as he turned his view to him, as he sat hunched stirring his coffee.

"'Allo Soap," Price groaned with a hint of melancholy.

Soap was bewildered at the sight of a sad captain, but understood when he remembered the story he told him. He dragged his arms to pull himself up, continuing to look at Price.

"You know, my friend," Nikolai informed, "You're captain here woke up with wet sheets-"

"DON'T... Talk about it," Price retorted, with an obvious look of anger—his eyebrows knitted and his eyes darted at Nikolai, whose shame was apparent. "I can't stop thinking about him; every night there's a memory," he whispered inwardly to himself.

That response had piqued Soap's interest, because he was pushing himself up out of his bed. He had gathered the strength to walk up. A miracle! Both Price and Nikolai came to Soap attempting to give him assistance, but he pushed them away. He grabbed a chair and plopped down with a smirk, chuckling, "Now that I can walk, gimme that bacon!"

Nikolai gave out all the breakfast amenities in a flash. Everyone sat down to eat. It was good progress, that Soap can walk, let alone stand. They could mobilize sooner than they thought!

But again, Nikolai had to go out for more munitions and rations. Soap and Price were still seated at the dining table. It was still a company. It was minutes later when Soap broke the ice, "What was it about you waking up with wet sheets?"

"It was something I did with Gaz; you don't need to know," Price replied, still embarrassed from when Nikolai mentioned it.

"Did you piss on yourself in front of him?" Soap joked as he still smirked.

"NO," he flatly sighed, "Something more... Vulgar." In changing the subject, he asked, "Did Ghost ever mention Gaz or his relation to him?"

"They were related?" Soap was confused.

"You didn't know?"

"Yes, but I remember him mentioning that he had an older cousin who was some softie, but Ghost credited him for his skills." Soap was now astonished.

"No name?"

"None...He claimed he hated him."

"You see..."

* * *

_2001_

In two short years, Gaz and Price had become close friends. Being in Afghanistan together galvanized their bonds, and he amazed Price even further in that time alone. Now they were sitting at the common room in their HQ. People came and went, but only a few people stayed...alive. One of which was a man named Simon Riley, who was taller and bulkier than Gaz with brown hair and eyes of the same shade. It wasn't obvious that they were cousins, but it was noticeable. Their skills were almost equal. Despite the selection process, Riley was more brash and uncontrollably bawdy than Gaz. Sometimes Price was mad at him for his sick commentary, as today was one of those days.

"Black tea is more full-bodied than green tea," Price explained as he sipped down his Earl Grey to Gaz, who sipped his. Everyone was drinking tea.

"You mean more T&A? Awesome!" Riley butted in, "I don't like the flat ones!"

"Simon!" Gasped Gaz as he sipped more of his.

"Herbal tea is more likely to be fruity in flavor," Price continued to drone on, "Thus making it more sweet."

"Of course, fruits(1) prefer flowers," Riley again butted in, "That's why they smell and obsess like girls!" He raucously laughed after that.

"Simon," Gaz said with a hint of concern, "Please..."

In reality, Riley wasn't part of the Bravo team. He was actually part of the Alpha team and visited the regiment because of obvious and family ties. Price set his tea down and went into a mode of strictness. He snapped his head up to Riley.

"Sergeant Riley," Price lowered his voice, "If you can't stop being perverted all the time, you'll be not allowed to visit your cousin anymore. So learn some manners." It seemed retarded that he was angry at him, but Price was quite older than the both of them.

"Price..." Gaz gasped. He blinked and sat still. That felt like a punch to the stomach. He never knew that Price would lose his own tolerance of his own cousin, and that hurt like hell. A bead of sweat dripped down as Riley slammed his tea cup down, breaking its handle off. He only stood up and retorted in hidden shock, "Fine, if you can't handle my sense of humor, you can go --"

At that same second, Gaz stood up and created something indelible for his captain and cousin. He grabbed a special ruby and gold-hilted knife out of thigh pocket and slammed it into the stud of the wall. A rough breaking sound followed after. Only the hilt stuck out of the wall.

"Yourself..." Riley stopped speaking.

"Do you think you can kick out my cousin just because of what he is?" Gaz whispered slowly, with a serious visage and a cold tone of voice, "Don't forget he's MY cousin. If it's class that you want, and I'm not giving you enough, you should see to it that he falls far from the tree. But don't you dare discriminate on someone's kind of humor. And, oh...Gimme a week."

Captain Price was speechless, but something was on....

* * *

The next day arrived. Riley walked over to the common warehouse with a smirk, not caring if Price was still mad at him. Coming in, what he saw surprised him. Gaz was sitting at a table , but Price wasn't there. Instead there was two teacups, both with coffee. He looked up to Riley expectantly. He smiled and greeted, "Good Morning. Take a seat."

"Morning," Riley grunted as he held his mug high as he drank up his coffee. Gaz only smiled and looked at him.

"What?" Riley spat, "You're here alone?"

"Yes," Gaz said in reply, "I want you to know something."

"What?" Riley grunted again.

"I want to know... Does your leader from Alpha Six like you?"

"Not necessarily," Riley answered, "But he thinks I'm the best, so it doesn't matter. Does Price honestly like you?" He raised an eyebrow to him.

"Honestly," Gaz said, blinking, "Price is so enamored with me. I don't think there is an ounce of of hate or contempt for me within him. Which leads me to thinking, I kind of agree with him on how you carry yourself. I honestly think you need to shape up in that category. Every place isn't a war zone you know, and there's people out there who haven't experienced war like you. Civilians and us off-duty need a set of rules to--"

"He really does dote on you, but he still keeps a tight ship," Riley cut him off, "I know, I know, we're British and we are all well-mannered and all that colorful bullshit we learned at school."

"I agree that he really does. Enough with that debate, drink that cup." Riley thought it was verbatim, but drank it anyway. A slurping sound followed. Gaz looked annoyed.

"No," he corrected, "Don't slurp." There was a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Why the hell not?" Riley cocked an eyebrow. He was annoyed too.

"'Cuz it sounds gross. It's displeasing to the general public."

"So I have to put out my pinky too?"

"Not necessarily. Also remember it you can't say something to the Queen, don't say it at all." Another splurting sound followed. Riley looked at Gaz and realized that his shirt was stained with coffee. He crossed his arms and glared at him.

"I really don't like the way you talk to others sometimes," he mumered.

"Fuck you!" Riley shouted. He slammed his hands on the table, leapt up and left. Gaz sat shocked as he was in a damp shirt seeing an instant fail. He understood Riley, though. He understood that Riley was an abused child and was very rebellious. How would've he be in the army in the first place? Gaz felt cold and got up to change, but he knew he could do better tomorrow.

* * *

The day passed like any other day. Training, debriefing, eating and the like. But the next day almost came like the morning. Again, Gaz and the younger Riley were sitting down at the table.

"There's a reason why you have to be nice to your group. Joking around is okay, but saying downright mean things can be just scarring," Gaz explained, "Also your commanders like you more."

"And your point is..." Riley groaned.

"Pro-mo-tion," Gaz said it in a sing-song way to keep his younger cousin entertained.

"Good point."

"See? Let's get started shall we?" At least Riley was getting some part of it right. Maybe knowing some class and manners aren't so bad. Starting with drinking coffee, Gaz criticized, pricked and prodded every aspect of Simon Riley's bearing.

"Don't slurp."

"Don't slam that cup. Set it down as if it were a gun."

"Don't chew with your mouth full! And don't even think about talking while your eating!"

"Close your mouth! I can even sense it six tables away!"

"Oh my God, stop swearing! Every place is not a bar!"

"Don't touch that! Stop grabbing me!"

Riley was frustrated and so was Gaz. Out of all the criticisms he said, Riley could only do four right. Gaz repeated and repeated them throughout the morning, but Riley could practice an etiquette half-assed. Half-assed was the perfect word for him for the next few days. Other than a promotion, he couldn't see why manners were so damn important. After another frustrating day of his barbarianism, Gaz took off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair. He then laid down on his bed with a groan. Price came into the room with a smirk on his face. Gaz glared at him and lifted his torso up.

"What the hell are you smiling at, you cretin?" He could only spit acid.

"What do you mean cretin? Isn't Riley one?" Price could only chuckle.

"Yeah..."

"Ha! See?"

"But no because... You'll be hit so hard."

"Uh-huh. Yeah, you keep telling yourself that...."

"Your going down you son of a bitch..."

This was the first time that Gaz had ever been pissed at Price but loyalty is a bitch....

* * *

The air was much different in the common room. Probably a more trashy stench. The source was Gaz, but his look was different. No hat, tousled bangs, a fatigue shirt and black biker shorts. A crass smiled formed on his face.

"Good morning!" Riley greeted as he walked in. He was actually trying today. Gaz stumbled over to him and slurred.

"Top ooop da mornin' to yaaaz!" Gaz twirled around and turned his head to Riley. He was instantly freaked out. Gaz's crass smile stayed on his face.

"The hell?" Riley cocked an eyebrow. He looked down at his cousin, his caring, mature older cousin, if it was even the case.

"Want a swig?" Gaz held up a bottle of vodka and chugged down a finger(2) and a half, "I'll suck it for a pound(3). Get it?" Crass, cackling laughter followed.

"No, I don't 'coz..." Riley gasped in horror. Gaz slammed down his hands on the table and yelled, "You know the other day, I saw this jockstrap(4) on the floor..."

"Yeah?" Riley saw this as more awkward than it has ever been.

"...And it was covered in cream!" Gaz brayed and stared directly into Riley's eyes, "And it had the name Donothopolis(5) on it!" He was pounding the table and raucous laughter burst from him. Riley was also very confused on what this was supposed to be about. Where did all this come from?

"Uh Gaz," Riley tapped on his shoulder, "Are you okay?" Gaz then set the vodka bottle down and continued staring into Riley's eyes. He was even more uncomfortable. The older cousin then burst into laughter after a minute of silence and picked up the vodka, chugging down the rest. Flabbergasted, Riley got up and shook his head. He walked away to the shooting range. He never knew it, but Gaz actually felt liberated in a very long time. This scene had played over and over in his mind. Simon Riley finally knew why manners were so important. He finally cared to pay attention to Gaz's manner lessons...

* * *

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa..." Soap yelled as he pushed his hands forward, "Are you saying that was Gaz pulled off THAT stunt and Ghost got scared? How could that happen?"

"It's true," Price chuckled, "Ghost was shocked."

"That's BS!" Soap yelled back, "Nothing shocks Ghost!"

"The sight of his cousin acting like Ke$ha(6) did."

Soap could only growl.

* * *

_After 7 months..._

Gaz and Riley sat down at the common room table. They were both sipping Earl Gray tea as the sun rose over the hills of Credenhill. No slurping, no swearing, no alcohol... Just a tet-a-tet about football and cricket. As they set their cups down, Price walked in.

Ghost could only say, "It's fine weather, ain't it?"

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the looong hiatus and this lacking chapter. I know a better one will come some time. I got some footnotes here about the numbered stuff:

(1): A "fruit" is a 70's to 80's(?) term for a homosexual.  
(2): A finger is a small sip of an alcoholic drink, like Scotch.  
(3): A pound is a British unit of currency. That phrase was derived from, "I'll suck it for a dollar."  
(4): A jockstrap was used in the 70's and 80's as a male support clothing article.  
(5): Donothopolis is the name of one of my teachers. Giggle if you want. :)  
(6): Ke$ha is a hiphop singer. Listen to "Tick-Tock" and you'll get what I mean.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This took a REALLLY long time! I really hope this makes sense to you people. The reason why I don't call Riley Ghost yet because it's not that time yet. I hope this can be a great transition from the second chapter.

* * *

_Third Leaf: Twin Knives_

Next Morning...

Soap started walking for exercise around the perimeter of the house. He was much happier and sounded more like himself and less like a frog. His coughing nearly stopped, too. To encourage him, Price walked with him, still telling about how Ghost and Gaz are connected. He still had the clover in hand, with half of the leaves torn off. The grass brushed at the men's legs as they walked together. Price stopped when a twin bladed grass scratched his thigh.

"What is it, Price?" Soap asked with curiosity.

"Gaz's weapons..." Price answered in deep reflection.

"What?"

* * *

_2005_

In the time that Gaz and Riley spent together, they had closer than they were at childhood. In fact their personalities had assimilated into one: cheeky and wry. Riley shaped up well in manner and impressed Price. He no longer considered kicking him out. Even Riley's commander was even starting to like him, so all was fine in their world.

For a change, however, Gaz was at Riley's place, so Price felt a bit lonely back in Credenhill. The cousins were at Hereford, so Gaz wanted to look around. Hereford was very different than Credenhill. It was more flat with tall grass and was only close to one sharp hill. They were at the flat plains, which wasn't far away from the base. The scenery overall was a mix of gray, green and white, not to mention Hereford was colder than Credenhill, not to mention it was evening.

"It feels so... Low," Gaz commented on the elevation difference. He tapped his foot down at the grass to make sure he wasn't any higher. "No hills to kick each other off of..."

There's that one," Riley assured as he pointed to that sharp hill, "Let's go to that one!" In an instant, they dashed up the hill to the top. On it, they played a less brutal version of Rochambeau (1) where they kicked and shoved each other until one reached the base of the hill.

"Take that!" Gaz shouted as he head butted his younger cousin into the ground, but Riley didn't take that.

"Naw-ah!" Riley yelled back as he pulled Gaz down by the arm and kicked him in the ribs. He punched back Riley in the shoulder as he struggled to stand.

"Oh yes I did!" Gaz laughed as he pushed him down. Seeing the cockiness in his eyes, Riley grabbed him by the foot and pulled it forward, making him trip.

"What's with the cheap trick, you bastard?" Riley yelled in reply. Much kicking, punching and shoving went after that. Not to mention the struggle of getting up and falling, when Gaz punched, Riley punched. When Gaz kicked, Riley kicked. When Gaz shoved, Riley shoved back. When Riley fell down, Gaz got up. When he got up, Gaz fell down. Both young men weren't above yelling dirty insults or using cheap tricks either. It was very hard to tell who was winning because it was always switched back. By the time Captain Albert came, both guys were both rolling down the hill biting each other's hands.

"Okay, what the hell is the meaning of this?" Captain Albert barked at two bruised and bloody young men. They were lying down, catching their breaths as they struggled to get up by themselves.

"Hold on Simon," Gaz said softly as and weakly as he held Riley's arm. They both wiped themselves clean and he adjusted his hat.

"So?" Captain Albert spat, "What the hell did you men do?"

"We played Rochambeau," Riley moaned, in fear.

"Go clean yourselves up," scoffed the captain. They did in an instant. After putting on clean clothes, it was already dinner time, so they went directly to the mess hall. For tonight, it was Riley's favorite: meatloaf, mashed potatoes and a sugar cookie. For Gaz, not so much, but dinner with his cousin was always fun.

"Yes! Meatloaf!" Riley cheered as he sat down next to Gaz. Instead of chewing it like a horse, he decided to cherish it by nibbling on it softly as he could.

"Hey... Aren't you the one who taught Riley here how to eat like a normal person?" A lanky blonde soldier piped in.

"At least I was like a horse," Riley scoffed, "Not like you, who ate like an effin' gay fish." Laughter chorused around the table.

"Yes," Gaz answered, and then swallowing his bit of mashed potato, "Yes, I did. I'm his cousin."

"I know, Riley told me about you. Gaz, right?" The blonde replied.

"Yes, again," He looked at Riley.

"His name's Webster; he's a sergeant," Riley chipped in.

"I heard people from Credenhill are so well-behaved and charming," Webster wondered aloud, noticing Gaz's table manners, "I bet it's you."

"Hahahaha... Very funny."

"What?"

Tch, I'm the poster boy. My captain is the one behind it, if you assume..."

"Really? That's cool that your captain teaches you some good 'diplomatic' skills."

"Ha-ha... It's not like they're useful," Gaz sarcastically chuckled. His breathy voice seemed to reveal his frustration. Both Riley and Webster raised their eyebrows at the older man eating, then a muscular Irish man, walked by, tapping his Gaz's shoulder, cooing so everyone can hear. He stood up to face the man.

"If you want to know, noobie," the Irishman said, "You might be from another, prissier regiment, but you're nothing more than a visiting trooper here." He then swatted his backside with a firm palm.

Gaz gripped the spoon and growled. He looked up at the muscular oaf and caught a Gatorade projected from him as he walked away. He set it down and droned, "Throwing your drink isn't proper and so isn't spanking me."

The cafeteria fell silent as he got up from the table and walked over to the smirking Irish man, who was standing near another table. He then put his hand on his shoulder. The next move was swift and brutal: he kneed him in the crotch and gave a palm strike straight in the face, knocking him unconscious. The cafeteria still was silent as a heavy thud echoed throughout the place. He explosively slammed down the spoon on his neck.

"No one ever sexually harasses me, ever..." Gaz whispered in the now unconscious man's ear, and then stroked it. The silence broke when Captain Albert burst through the door, yelling, "What the hell is going on?"

Gaz walked away from the Irishman, but arched his head up, calmly replying, "This man insulted me and I had to reiterate. Is that so wrong?"

"You... You, go to my office!" Albert spat as he pointed to the mentioned place. With a 'yes, sir', Gaz walked over there with his head held high and arms crossed.

"Your cousin's in deep shit now," Webster whispered to Riley moments after Gaz walked into the office.

"Yeah, I'm worried about 'im," Riley responded with a head shake, "Other than that one time on the battlefield; I never had seen him like this..."

"Guess the china doll chipped a thing or two."

"I know, he's like the perfect person here," Riley motioned a 'come-here' gesture to come and eavesdrop about Gaz in the office. From time to time, Riley could only hear:

"Turns out the guy wasn't injured much..."

"Your punishment shall be faxed to Price..."

"I don't know how your captain will react..."

"I can't believe this..."

"Now get out!" Albert shoved Gaz out, with his head low, especially from all that lecturing he received. He arrived at Riley's end of the quarters. Riley greeted, "What's up?"

"Can't stay!" Gaz yelled as he threw his arms out.

"What?" Riley couldn't comprehend what was just said, namely yelled. It was a surprise that no one was looking at him.

"Are you _dumb_? Yes, I mean _here!_" Riley blinked as Gaz swiftly undressed and climbed onto the top bunk and lay down to go to sleep. He only heard of Gaz's angry mutterings after lights out. He bathed in his own dark anger.

* * *

The morning horn sounded...

Riley woke to the sounds of punching, which he sensed next to him. That punching was of Gaz cramming his clothes into a small duffel bag. Riley wanted to say hi and did so, but Gaz's anger didn't dissipate.

"The hell you want?" Gaz grumbled as he hurriedly zipped the bag. When he looked up, his tone drastically changed, "Oh... Good morning Simon!" It was the usually, peppy and proper voice people were used to.

"Gaz?" Riley was shocked.

"Oh, don't worry," Gaz replied, "I'll be with you 'til after breakfast." So he kept his word, starting with a three-mile run around Hereford, beating the crowd at the showers, and then sitting down in the mess hall. In the dangling aroma of sausage and eggs, Riley chuckled about how Price would be pissed. Playful punches flew and a restrained hug set Gaz off to Credenhill.

After a windy car ride, Gaz leapt off with his duffel bag and strutted straight to the soldier's quarters. Price was there, in front of his office with arms crossed, glowering. He saw the body language and went into his office.

"Just what the hell am I hearing about knocking a soldier unconscious, Gaz?" Price sternly asked as he sat down on his office chair.

"He deserved it..." Gaz mumbled, rolled his eyes and sat down on the chair in front of Price's desk.

"For what?" Price asked louder.

He was sexually harassing me!" He replied back, "You know how I feel when I get sexually harassed."

"Dammit!" Price pounded his fist on his desk, "Why didn't you report it? It's better than hitting his balls!"

"Reporting's bullshit! It's not proportional to what happened. It isn't enough!" At this moment, soldiers gathered around the office window.

"I hate the behavior you've been showing this week!" Captain Price then snatched Gaz's wrist and slapped him briskly across the face. A much harder punched followed, making him Gaz double over, but rolled back up, even though he was kneeling. For the past week, he was unusually irritable, ignoring what Price told him and ditching with Riley when he wanted to talk to him. With Riley, Price didn't know that Gaz missed something very important. The soldiers gasped as he clutched his wrist in pain. His teeth were clenched as they heard his heavy breathing. Face bruised and hat twisted, Gaz was angry and betrayed.

He wondered as he felt his heart beat rapidly from his chest. This was Captain Price, his best friend, the one who respected him for his skill, slapped him for what was in his eyes a judgmental mistake. A stupid one. He wasn't one to take this lying down. He was no goddamn mockingbird for what over-analytical readers could label (2). No. Way. In-

He gave a swift, forceful head butt to Price's stomach. His back hit the wall, and Gaz plopped onto the floor. A plaque fell in the process onto his head, but it stop him from pinching his neck. Gaz could only look up with quickly to see Riley who shuffled through the regiment to crack through the door of the office. He leapt up straight away to Riley, only to sob in his arms after.

"Simon!" was the only coherent word gasped by him. He shook as Simon Riley would only stare at Price as the regiment stared directly at the cousins. He took him to his room seconds later.

He was still sobbing and tried his best to tell him what followed after coming back. Even Riley had a gut feeling that his older cousin deserved it; he had to feel sorry him, knowing his captain wrongfully hit him. It was unjustified for Price to hit him for what was to Gaz "physical harassment". When he calmed down, he curled on the bed, back to the wall, shaking every few minutes.

"Do you remember that time?" Simon asked as he petted Gaz's head. His softening features comforted Simon.

"What time, Simon?" Gaz could whisper an answer, since his voice was still shaky.

"When Mr. Ashton tried to-"

"Don't say it..." He snapped, shaking violently. He gripped his hatless hair and let out a shrill scream. It pierced Riley's ears to hear it, but his heart was more pierced to see him break down.

"It's okay, it's okay," Riley cooed to him as Gaz calmed down, "Mind if I asked you something?"

"If it's about Mr. Ashton, no."

"It's not. Do you like Price?"

"Yes, he's my best friend."

"Wait... What I meant is do you have a crush on him? You seem to be very close."

"No, We're best friends." Despite his voice being emotionless, his hand was shaking violently.

"You seemed very hurt when Price..." He noticed that Gaz got scared when he was in trouble.

"It's nothing." He felt a little bothered. A head popped out of the door as it screeched open. It was Price's.

"I only want to review the punishment for Gaz; may I come in?" With that, Gaz collapsed; his head fell on the bed, his body curled up again, and the metal springs squeaked as his weight slammed on it.

"Don't talk to me," was all he could spit.

"I think I could tell him for you. You can tell me," Riley stood up to Price, "I don't think he wants to see you right now." In return, Price whispered the punishment to him.

The punishment was laid out like this: Gaz was given a weekly punishment of cleaning Price's private quarters everyday (3). He had to stay with him at all hours except to exercise, eat and go to the bathroom. Riley told all this to Gaz.

By judging his yelling, screaming, throwing, punching and swearing, Gaz wasn't happy.

* * *

By the time Price retold his past problems, Nikolai arrived with munitions. He turned around and yelled in a Russian accent, "Oi Price! We should get inside, the munitions are good!"

"Coming," Price replied. Soap noticed something in his face, the fact he was serious. He was worried that something worse happened between Price, Gaz and his now-precious Ghost. Both men walked inside the house, towards the living room.

Nikolai dropped a long box of ammo on the floor. Both Price and Soap scrambled to open it, which revealed a common ammo cartridge, 7.62 x 51mm (4). He also set down guns that were compatible with said ammo.

"Since this ammo's common, I decided to pick it up," Nikolai said as he loaded the guns, "It would serve as an advantage to you, no?"

"That would, thanks Nikolai," Soap said.

"With you walking and us having guns, we can stay here for one more week," Price added as he looked at the guns. This reminded him of the time he and Gaz reloaded and clean guns together, but that made his heart ache again. In fact, telling Soap this story between him and Gaz hurt, but he had to continue because of Soap's curiosity.

"I can't stay long, though," Nikolai sighed, "I have to get pistols and heavy weapons now. I can't get them easily... I wish I could chat with you guys. Take care now." He left after, going into an old, battered jeep and drove away. Soap and Price sat down on the couch.

Price continued, "Then the US SOCOM came..."

* * *

There were recent reports of a drug cartel booming in Mexico. The US had tried to stop it, and even the DEA couldn't do it. Being in the middle of the Afghanistan war, there were fewer soldiers to help with the War on Drugs. Now they needed help and they could only ask one group: the British SAS.

Major Pezz of the US SOCOM was in Credenhill to meet with Captains Price and Albert. The US SOCOM only needed the best of the SAS. Frankly, one is many in the SAS. Pezz needed only one. However, there was a debate on who was supposed to go: Riley or Gaz.

"Give us a shot in the arm; who exactly are these people: Riley and Gaz?" Pezz asked as he interlocked his hands together on the Oak desk.

"Gaz is my second-in-command, my lieutenant," Price answered with a smile on his face. He always talked about Gaz with pride. Maybe too much.

"Riley is my second-in-command, too," Albert added in. On the other hand, he didn't.

"Interesting. Never thought you'd send out your highest ranking officers," Pezz thought aloud.

"Our best have the highest ranks," Price said cordially.

"Since you want the best," Albert again added, "We made it easier for you."

"Hmmmm... Pezz reflected, "Tell me why they're so good and why is there even indecision?"

"Gaz can hack, rappel and shoot well with most guns. He can also use knives tactically and efficiently. He's better than the most I've seen," Price started, but he felt nervous inside. It seemed to him America drags others down with their problems.

"Riley is like that, but a little stealthier. Even though he can't do as well with knives, give him a sniper rifle and he's good," Albert said, describing Riley's abilities.

"Stealth is a great factor in our missions," Pezz warned, "Is there anything else you want to say?"

"They both got the record for the CQB test!" Both Price and Albert caught themselves saying that. They sat back down, a little embarrassed.

"Even more interesting. Is true that those two are cousins? Because I heard rumors going around that they are," Pezz chuckled.

"Yes," Price reassured, "Gaz is older, Riley is younger. Their mothers are sisters."

"Ah!" Pezz said in revelation, "No wonder it's a hard choice!"

"Are we supposed to tell them now?" Albert was warned that they'll come unprepared when the time comes.

"You can tell them to try harder, but tell me who's going so I can debrief him," Pezz replied, "This has been a nice meeting. See you again sometime." All three men got up and shook hands. Albert and Pezz left while Price stayed. This was, of course, his base.

In the common room, Gaz and Riley sat down playing Go Fish. Holding his hand up to his face, Gaz asked, "Do you have a Joker?"

"I'll pick you up later," Albert reminded Riley as he walked out.

Riley ignored him, "No. Go Fish." Albert shrugged his shoulders. He knew that Riley and Gaz were close and Riley was apathetic to most things.

"Uhhhhh... Do you have a nine?" Gaz asked again.

"Don't mind if I do," Riley mumbled, holding a pair of nines. He really didn't care if he won or lost, but he enjoyed spending time with someone who cared about him.

"Yessss..." Gaz hissed happily as he set it down to his pile. Unlike him, Gaz was into the game.

"Do you mind if I have a private talk with your younger cousin, Gaz?" Price walked in motioning his hand to the office.

"Me?" Riley raised his eyebrows.

"Well, with Pezz, why not?" Gaz answered cordially.

* * *

"Sit down," Price ordered. Both sat down in chairs near the desk. Riley didn't know what this is about, but he had a gut feeling it was about Pezz and the mission.

"I want to ask you something," Price asked, looking at Riley directly in the eyes. For the first time, icy blue met warm, cynical brown.

"What is there to ask?" Riley answered. _Thank God for Gaz's lessons, for if he didn't get them, he would've swore._

"I want you to be honest with me... Do you think you're better than Gaz?" Riley was flabbergasted. He didn't know what to say. He was too busy working hard that he had never time to compare himself to Gaz. He couldn't hurt Gaz, he could never-

"Answer me!" Price yelled and pounded his fists on the desk.

"Why would I be? I could never shine as bright as him!" Riley splurted out. His face felt hot. _Was my face red_, he thought to himself. "He and I both work hard!"

"I know your past," he remarked, I know you survived a lot more than he will. Why not put yourself on the pedestal. You went through more and you deserve it, don't you?" He crooked a smile.

"No... I can't," Riley was immobile. He would never make himself superior to him. It was just plain wrong to manufacture pain to your own liking.

"Well, well, just wanna check."

"In that case, do you know Gaz's?"

"What?"

"Touché."

"All he told me was he was born to a modeling agent father and an accountant mother in London, probably near your area. He played cricket and sang throughout childhood and adolescence."

"There's more to that..."

"Really."

"It's the reason why I could never put myself above Gaz."

"What is it?"

"As a fifteen-year-old, he was only five feet tall. In his high school, there was a cricket team, he joined it but was ridiculed for his height. Because of that, he got into fights and so was kicked out, courtesy of his father.

"No wonder he's antsy about people calling him short."

"That height became another factor. He became a part-time model so his dad could show him the trade. There was a photographer named Mr. Ashton, you see..."

"What was it?" Price was now shocked of what Gaz had been hiding from him. His snappy comebacks and insecurities now made sense.

"Mr. Ashton then harassed him, but he paralyzed him in a bloody execution of knives and guns. Gaz never knew, but there was some idea after some comments made by him."

"Oh my..."

"That wasn't half of it, his father analyzed the modeling industry and realized homosexuals were going to go after him if he continued, thinking that he is girl in a young man's body, a person who would pass on his career. Being overprotective, he sent Gaz to the Army because it would be better. Sadly, his mother agreed."

"My lord..." He saw why Gaz hated being sheltered.

"In fact, the bigger problem was something way before that. Everything got better in the Army.

"What was it? How old was he?"

"One day, he came from school. They were teaching sex-ed that day and all his father could say was, 'I wish you were born a girl'. He did nothing as his dad berated him for being a boy, because his business was dwindling. For the first time I felt sorry for him."

"Oh Gaz!" Price gasped in horror and had a need to comfort him the man on the subject. Now he knew why he attacked that guy in Hereford.

"Sexual harassment was fuel to his fire. His temper got worse, but I'm actually proud of him continuing on. I hear leaders love him very much, especially you." Riley cracked a smile. He did love his cousin, after all.

"That's good," He blushed, "I do. Isn't he adorable? I know he snaps when I hug him too much..."

"Where did my cousin get the name Gaz anyway?"

"It actually stemmed from his temper. When he was filling gas tanks for the jeeps, it was hot. Some of the oil spilled on him and a guy comes up with a flaming match. The match touches Gaz's back and he's on fire. He starts swearing, screaming and rolling like mad. After another guy puts him out, he ran towards the guy who ignited him and beats him to a pulp. To some, it's funny and to some it's scary; I think it's both."

"Wow, this has been a revealing talk for both of us, hasn't it?"

"Maybe I've been too firm with him lately."

"Even though I have been abused, I think Gaz can be capable of what I can do."

"That's it?"

"Yes." Riley got up and left.

* * *

_Nighttime_

Outside of the warehouse, Price and Albert stood face to face 10 paces from each other. Both were holding folders and walking towards each other. At the instant they bumped, their folders lied past each other. They picked up the folders near them and Albert walked away to the jeep, with Riley following along and waving goodbye to Price.

"It's good you told me Price," Albert yelled over the running motor.

"I know! Good Luck!" Price yelled back. Inside the warehouse, Gaz slept, not knowing what happened could ignite that fire again.

* * *

_Daytime_

In Hereford, Simon Riley got the debriefing to go with the US SOCOM to Mexico. A good-luck party followed soon after, but Riley wanted to say goodbye. In Credenhill, Gaz ran his mornings like usual. It was a contest finished.

After breakfast, the soldiers scattered, doing busywork. He went to type reports on his desktop while two other soldiers came along. One of them was Walcroft, a Scottish, pale brown-haired man while the other was Cook, a shaky English trooper. These two decided to sit next to him while he typed. Walcroft decided to ask, "Did you get it?"

"What d'you mean 'it'?" Gaz replied as he typed.

"You know, the privilege to be with the Yanks?" Walcroft clarified. Gaz typed faster.

"Tell you the truth, I don't know..." He replied, but quietly. He typed even faster.

"Riley hasn't told you yet?" Cook added.

"I tried calling him, but he's busy," He sighed. He was maxing out a 70 words per minute on his computer.

"Have you ever dreamed of a promotion?" Cook asked, "I-i-i-it seems like you want one." He stopped typing and looked straight in his eyes. Walcroft just stared.

"Yes, yes I do," Gaz gasped, "How do you... Know?"

"You cater to Price's every whim, and you're his best friend," He replied, "Even though I'm a trooper, I'm observant."

"Cook if you ever become a lieutenant, remember this: there is an old saying in the army that lieutenants shouldn't marry, captains may marry and majors should be careful about being prescient (5)."

"What's that mean?"

"You've seen it with me and Price." Walcroft felt something present behind the door and looked back.

"Speak of the devil, it's Price," He said. Price basically then walked in.

"Gaz, I need to talk to you," Price said as he motioned his hand toward the office.

"Yes, sir," Gaz replied as he got up and went Price's way. Walcroft and Cook looked at each other and then shrugged their shoulders.

* * *

Gaz and Price sat down like usual in the office. Often, Price was enthusiastic whenever he was with him, but now he was solemn. Gaz knew something was up.

Price could only swallow his throat, but he had to say it, "Gaz, you didn't make the mission, Riley did."

Gaz stood up and yelled in shock, "What?"

"Gaz, it's not my fault!" Price tried to reassure him.

"I wanted that!"

"Both of you did. But there was heavy debate between you and him."

"I can't believe you!" With that he ran to his room, hurt. Price followed him, but was stopped after Gaz slammed the door on him. He sighed, knowing what he did was wrong, but he could never let go of Gaz. Especially after the fact MacMillan died last year and he was grumpy during the funeral. He was talking about something with Riley, but he could never put his finger on it…

Then Gaz burst out of the room with the knives he stabbed the wall with. His eyes weren't very bright, but the ruby and gold hilts were. The other soldiers, even Cook and Walcroft, made a crowd behind Price, who stepped back. The lights above only made this situation worse. "If I can't fight for or with Simon, then I'll fight yooouuuuu!" Gaz dashed forward yelling.

His foot connected and hit Price in the chest, making him fall down. The soldiers backed up even farther. Some even whispered 'fight!' Price pushed himself up and tried to stand and reason with him, "It was a hard choice."

"It's because MacMillan's dead, isn't it?" Gaz spat as he jumped then hopped back to the wall, "You want me to stay here with you, don't you?" He quickly put one of his gold and ruby knives in the holster and pulled out an ordinary knife, "That's selfish of you!" With left foot forward and right back, he threw the knife at Price.

Price was running to the other side of the quarters when the knife flew. He shifted right, but it touched his boonie hat so it wobbled and lost velocity very quickly. It cartwheeled and bounced off his shoulder, but he caught it in his hand. '_If MacMillan was here, he would say I'm being really stupid,' _He thought as he saw himself in it, but he snapped his glance back to Gaz, who just skipped about 10 meters forward. The soldiers were now cheering as they gathered behind him.

"Don't you realize I work hard too?" Gaz snapped again, "I almost passed out on that last mission too!" He threw two knives this time, but one after another. Price tried his best to shift away from the first knife, but couldn't dodge the second. It penetrated through his sweater and hit the muscle of the back of his arm. He kneeled down and reasoning fell as his arm bled, even though it was a large nick. Eyes squeezed shut; he was denying that he was still mourning.

"If my years at that useless modeling company taught me one thing," Gaz continued, "Is that this world is superficial." His hat fell off during another forward dash and his hair swept from the energy, but the crowd was silent. "I've made it my mission to make people see that beauty is skin deep regardless of effort. I've gave my innocence, my heart and my soul to get where I am now!" He calmed down staring down at the shaking Price beneath him, "Can you see that?" It was just a whisper that he kept ranting and…

Ranting…With the remaining gold and ruby knife pointed to his hat…

And ranting about his past…

Then a metal clink echoed. Out of instinct and defense, Price saw through his ranting and parried a forward thrust. He stood up, now above Gaz and continued to parry his slashes. From the regiment's view it looked like a tango, a strategic dance back and forth.

"I know you do. That's why people admire you in the first place," Price asserted as he tried to slash him back. Caring for the subordinates was out of the question now. He to put the rebellious lieutenant in place! Knives continued to cross. Billy Budd? _Not quite._

"Liar!" Gaz replied as he grabbed the other special knife out of the holster and kicked him in the stomach. He then landed on all fours, holding his captain's arms down. Unfortunately, he broke free and grabbed Gaz's wrists, which held the shiny knives. Both were now kneeling. The catcalls of the regiment made him struggle more. They were now in a circle as some watched in awe, fear or excitement. Price made sure he wouldn't go any crazier as held his wrists tightly that it made him cry in pain, but then, he had an idea.

He stopped struggling and smiled, dropping both knives in the process.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, even though he was tired. Price let go of his wrists without a word. They still stared at each other intently, but the crowd gasped. A few minutes later, Gaz's smile became wider and began to interlock his fingers together. He brought them up volleyball style to Price's chin, but that didn't knock him out. He returned by punching him at the cheek. A crowd of 'Oohs' followed. Gaz jumped back and gripped onto his knives again.

"You look dashing without your hat," Price decided to fight fire with fire.

"You're a fucking idiot," Gaz growled and lunged forward with both knives pointed at him. Price felt hurt even more, and he wanted to hug Gaz more than anything else… It wouldn't matter if he got stabbed; he was his best friend. He didn't care that Gaz's tears were flowing like raindrops, even though the regiment saw that he was emotionally distraught.

"Gaz! Stop this now," Price yelled in an exasperated voice. More tears fell as he crossed his arms. He dropped his head down…Only to look up to Riley restraining Gaz. There was only one bruise, but he knew the scars were deeper. The circle of the regiment broke and they started talking amongst themselves.

"I wanted that mission. I wanted it. I wanted it. I wanted it…" Gaz sighed in disappointment as he started crying. Riley looked down and then saw Price. He knew something messed up went on if both Price and Gaz were crying, and not for each other.

"What the bloody hell's going on?" Riley said in question, "Price?" He cocked an eyebrow to the captain.

"I told him the news, and then he went crazy," Price answered nervously.

"Is that so? After what I saw last night? There has to be more," Riley asked. Gaz turned his head and spit in reply. He was still shaky so Riley held him gently.

"It's not my fault…"

"No, I saw you switch folders with my Captain Albert. I'm not on drugs here." The regiment grouped together again and gasped. Forgery? Rigging? Is this what the regiment thought of their captain doing?

"He was unreasonable; he didn't act like the way I thought…"

"Unreasonable, eh? Would I cry if someone cheated me out of something good using personal documents? Ask your little Gaz here." Gaz began swearing, kicking and crying more.

"Don't be a wiseass. That was only a fourth of my manners. That mission was supposed to mine and both of you know it!" He went into hysterical laughter, but squeaked when he was suddenly thrown to the ground, with the force of a battering ram.

"You wanker!" Riley was hurt, "We promised ourselves to never say that one of us was better than the other!" He turned to Price, "I know you hate me; don't wash it up in some rhetoric bullshit, especially when you told me to learn some manners! Also, you probably want my cousin all to yourself." Gaz scooted up to Price.

"I'm sick of being your doll, and like it or not. You liked me because I was nice and not to mention that over my military skills," He spat in Price's face. Price grabbed his wrists again in a boost of assertion.

"That means you're a pervert too!" Riley claimed as he pointed to Price.

"Shut up! Don't make insidious claims about me," Price argued. The Regiment couldn't believe this. No one wanted to eat popcorn anymore. Or have a beer. The argument continued as Gaz sat down and wept.

"I'm a boy and that's what God wants me to be," He started rambling; "I'm a boy not a girl. I'm a boy not a girl. Oh my God, blood! There's blood everywhere!" He dropped his knives and so did he. He began crying in a fetal position.

"Captain!" Cook yelled, breaking out of the crowd, "Lieutenant's having a breakdown! Come quick!" Price ran from Riley and went to Gaz's attention. Riley soon followed. For the next few hours, Price, Riley and Cook took him to the shrink's room.

* * *

"Oh Gaz…" Price sighed, still distraught from the fight.

"We already went over this before," Albert replied, patting his back, "Riley is going and that's the end of it."

"Oh geez…" Riley groaned.

"You are my best. Sometimes you have to let the ones you love the most advance," Albert looked at him and then Price, "Unfortunately, it's not Gaz's time. It's yours."

"Gee, thanks." A door opened and out of it came Cook.

"Cook?" Gaz woke up from napping on the shrink's bench.

"Wh-Wha-What is it, sir?" Cook answered.

Gaz looked at him, confused, "Was I crazy?"

"I knew something was very wrong, 'cuz I knew you don't act like this," He scratched his back, answering honestly; "People don't go crazy without a reason. You always joke, smile and help."

"Yeah," Riley added, "Especially someone as compassionate as Gaz here."

"Yes!" Gaz spoke up, "I wanted to say something."

"Wha-what is it, Gaz?" Price was curious to see him talk normally.

"I wanted to take the mission because I don't Simon to be hurt anymore. He's experienced so much worse than I did and…I…I wanted to take some of the punches too!"

"That's why I wanted the mission, Riley gasped, and "I didn't want you to suffer either."

"How noble of you people," Price commented, "I'm sorry for being so wrong and selfish. I was so heartbroken after MacMilllan died" After saying their goodbyes, Riley hugged Gaz and left for 3 weeks of special training near London. Price began to realize that Gaz broke not only because of not getting the mission; it was because he was making Gaz stay kind and mannerly, even though it wasn't his usual mood. That drunken stunt that attempted to teach Riley manners was a red flag. Another red flag was that Price groped him once and he never let it slide, so memories of his sexual assault came back to him.

Three weeks later, Riley was sent to Mexico. It did not go well…

* * *

By that time Price was done telling his tale, he ripped another leaf from the clover and shook his head. Soap didn't know what to do, but he knew it was painful because MacMillan died and Gaz was being resentful. Also, Gaz was angry for not being able to help Ghost eliminate his father because Price had no one to nurture and pass on MacMillan's skills.

Nikolai walked in, but shook his head and left. He knew about all this.

Gaz was court-marshaled, but Price being overprotective extended his previous punishment by three months. His temper and tendency to attack when being sexually harassed made him a perfect candidate for discharge. The morale of his team dropped drastically. Price realized after he left, he began to have feelings further than friendship towards him. It was terrible years indeed, as people seemed more depressed from not receiving the morale he gave them.

* * *

A/N: My school's done, so I decided to lengthen this chappie to what I see fit. I really need good words on this one so give me some constructive criticism, 'cuz I think I added too much narm on this one. Inspiration is from Taiga vs. Sumire scene from ToraDora. I added some foot notes just to be safe.

(1)Rochambeau: Can mean rock-paper-scissors or a game where men kick each other in the crotch until one is standing.  
(2)Mockingbird: According to my douchebag English teacher's analysis of To Kill a Mockingbird, a mockingbird is someone who does one thing but is persecuted in some way, ergo, a pussy.  
(3)Gaz's punishment: A common punishment in the British Army, because the Captain has private quarters: Bed, bath and kitchen.  
(4)A common type of NATO ammo for sub-machine guns  
(5)The saying Gaz mentioned was from a quote called By the Order of The President by WEB Griffin. I find it a great argument for slash, especially here and in this series. Easy to see how Soap/Ghost could slip by, eh?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I really don't know what to do with this story anymore, but like a good soldier, I'll finish what I started. I have so many events in my head that I don't know which one to put and where. AP classes and extracurricular stuff are to blame for my hiatus. Please be merciful to me as I try to finish the last chapter of my first fic.**

* * *

_Fourth Leaf: The Last Slash_

After 2005, Simon wasn't the same anymore. He recovered like a normal person in a physical sense, but never the mental sense. His nightmares of men named "Roba", "Vernon" and "Washington" concerned his old regiment. His superiors, people whom he had good terms with, now were alienated and confused. Price refused to have anything to do with him, but Gaz tried to help him.

"Simon, take your pills," admonished Gaz as he began putting down a glass of water next to Simon on a nightstand. They were in Hereford, with him against Price's rules. Simon had a linear scar running down from his cheek and other scars and bruises he didn't want anyone to see, so he resorted to wearing a turtleneck.

"I don't want your damn food!" Simon yelled in a hallucinated high. He then threw a hardbound book at him. Gaz's face contorted to a look of hurt, and a contemplation of coming betrayal. It hurt him to see him angry and in a daze. It hurt him further to see what a mission like this could do to people if they didn't know what they're doing.

"Relax, Simon, please," He tried pinning his younger cousin while cooing, "Or else I have to use anesthesia. You don't want anesthesia, do you?" Both cousins wore casual clothing, consisting of plain tees and cargo pants. Gaz had a syringe of anesthesia for this kind of situation, since the leaders told him to.

"You son of a bitch!" Simon screamed at his face and shoved him away. His fingers clawed at his shoulders.

"Hey, now!" Gaz got the warning, "You're getting anesthesia after your pills." He held the syringe barking in his right hand. In his left hand he squeezed Simon's wrist so much it could constrict his circulation.

"Take your pills now... This isn't just for my sake or yours, but think of Tommy, Beth and your mom." He knew how to be assertive, even though he was showing bruises himself. Defeated, the younger began to swallow his pills with his water. He was extremely grateful to be consuming something. He enjoyed the very coolness of the water, because he knew the biting pinch of the syringe was coming up next.

And that was the dessert. Gaz sighed as he put in the liquid through his vein. A punishment for "insanity", the medics called it. He knew Simon would fall asleep a few minutes after.

"You okay, Simon?" Gaz asked that question for many years. He could only think of when he first saw him.

* * *

_1978_

_ Gaz was only eleven years old. He was a scrawny kid with a short mop of the same dark chocolate hair that people admired today. The only things in his life were rugby, choir and Batman, in that order. He wore a navy blue blazer, a white shirt and beige shorts, since he went to a charter school. In fact, his parents were slightly richer than in the inhabitants of East London, due to a modeling agent dad and a banker mom. That day, they went over to Simon's house, which wasn't far._

_ Gaz hasn't even known Simon has ever existed. All his parents told him was that he was his cousin and it was his aunt's birthday. After a car ride that took forever to him, his family arrived to an old, shoddy-looking house._

_ "What the 'ell is this pissant 'ouse?" Gaz spat as he kicked a pebble across a dirt-covered stone step. _

_ "Language! Young man!," His mother, a chubby woman with curly black hair and a crimson dress, pinched his arm, "Be considerate of other people's belongings!"_

_ "You don't want your cuz's hearing that, don't ya?" His father glared at him. He was charismatic, and had close-cropped hair with a polo shirt and jeans. _

_ The family walked in the door, greeted by a woman with a wavy brown hair, a gaunt man whose smile was too enthusiastic, a six-year-old boy with shaggy hair and a tumbling one-year old. After the warm, diabetic Happy Birthday greetings, the cheek pinchings and the awkward questions, Gaz found out the six-year-old was called Simon and the one-year-old was Tommy. All three went to a backyard, containing a tee, a whiffle ball and bat and a large bouncing green ball. _

_ "Do you like chocolate?" Simon spat as he asked Gaz a question._

_ "Get me ball!" Tommy babbled, holding Simon by the pant leg. _

_ "I guess..." Gaz guessed through his opinion. His dad often limited sweets in his house._

_ "Oh? You do?" Simon chuckled and out of nowhere, he gave a goal-style kick to Gaz's shin. He ran off while he sat down, rubbing his shin._

_ "What the hell was that?" Gaz yelled at his direction. Tommy toddled toward him, looking at him in curiosity, like an eleven-year-old was new to him. He babbled and patted his older cousin at the hurt shin. At least the little one knew some manners. _

* * *

Of course, he nodded his head in nostalgia as he walked away from a now snoozing Simon. Price would be angry and Gaz couldn't care less.

* * *

Winter 2010

Credenhill was cozy and bright for the holidays. The regiment retired away in droves as they had families to tend to. The only ones who stood left are Gaz and Price, the trademark bachelors.

"You have a family, right? Aren't you going with Simon? Are you guys even related" Price found it peculiar that his lieutenant wasn't going back to East London. Secretly, he prayed that they weren't.

"I do, but things are rocky with Simon. My parents are busy also," Gaz recalled back to his younger cousin's botched mission.

"Busy, huh?" I bet fighting with Riley's parents."

"Don't count on it. My parents often work around the clock, so they're very career-minded people. Plus they have good will to help Riley's family as much as possible. Though his father, my uncle, gobbled up the money, but that won't be a problem this year." A smirk of satisfaction.

"So, are you same the financial class?"

"No. We're richer than his family. My parents are so deep into work that they want me to come later. That's why I'm not coming home like the others are. What's up with you?" Gaz gave a head tilt toward his captain.

"I have a GIANT family," Price's mouth gaped at the word giant for emphasis, "I have ten brothers and sisters. I'm the second oldest. They're not so keen on me coming home because..." His voice softened and dropped an octave, "I became a black sheep."

"Oh? Hmph." This was interesting.

"My parents are the owners of a local store in Dover. They, and my siblings, are the most conservative people I have ever known. The idea of a gifted child never clicked with them and store life never clicked with me. I enlisted and here I am," He sighed.

"So is your family, like, retarded?"

"It's rude to say retarded," Price tried finding a better term, "but narrow-minded is the key. They're incredulous to anything unfamiliar and hold what they know in very high regard. Work and basic labour is life to them. Books and cultured fancies are nothing."

"That must be very chaotic, _ten_ siblings."

"But I love them. War heroes must be something new to them, because I go more often than I come. It's okay, because I know deep in their hearts they are very proud of me, though they may never say it. This year, though, they'd like me to see them in Scotland, so I hope for something better."

"That's a noisy Christmas," Gaz became curt quickly.

"That's why I appreciate the quiet. The fact I am able to think and meditate with clarity satisfies me. You don't get much of it living in a family of thirteen."

"Ew, you like silence? I love the music, I love the beat and I definitely love going wild without being awkward. Partying, dude!" Gaz bellowed and raised his fist in the air.

"You're an only child, Gaz," Both walked over to the Killing House, the cargo ship mock-up and sat down at this table with television sets, chuckling.

A silence followed. Price ran his eyes through the course while Gaz imagined running through, just like the time when he was an FNG. Eleven years ago, he set the record. Now he was sitting at the helm of command, just next to the captain. Eleven years ago was a damn long time, but he remember the course like if it was yesterday...

* * *

_1999_

_"I have class, kiss my ass, there's my pass, so look at that!" Gaz laughed, pointing at the __plaque that denoted his name and the record on the cargo ship course. The regiment had the __raucous laughter around them. Nineteen seconds was king and Gaz was sure as hell that no one willing would break it. It took a few days, but respect was instant among his peers. Price was charmed to see his new FNG tooting his horn._

_ "How cute," Price cooed, "You should be doing more laps if you want to keep that!" A chorus of Ooh's resounded. _

_ "Good one, man! I'm too awesome for that bullshit!" Gaz slapped his knee. The regiment found his ability to crack jokes amazing. Price knew there was an amazing young man beneath, but he had to wait it out._

* * *

A wide smile appeared on Gaz's face as he scanned the course. Price began to tap his shoulder.

"You wanna play flashbang volleyball?" He produced one for just the occasion.

"Why the hell not," Gaz pulled Price's hand out of his seat and ran past the cargo ship mock up, past the second wall, or where it was supposed to be, to the legitimate killing houses themselves. The actual ones where SAS members like themselves would train and the BBC would showcase. It had many rooms, furniture and doors to boot.

"This area is small," Price rolled his eyes up to ceiling, "I think we should-" Gaz pulled the pin and threw it up.

"Now!" He spiked it downwards, but the captain spiked it up in time. The flashbang swiveled in the air as the two were too close for a possible game, if this was even a game at all. Gaz palmed it away, jumping and hitting Price's face with his stomach in the process. The bomb exploded at the corner in a flash. For a second, it brightened the room to the point of blinding. Gaz rebounded and hit Price again, knocking heads. Both plopped on the floor, rubbing their temples thinking about what they did.

"Bad idea, bad idea," Price muttered over and over in quick succession.

"Wrong place, wrong place," Gaz did the same.

After shaking off the blindness, both felt for the couch near them. Squinting, they sat next to each other. He didn't know it, but Price had his head turned towards Gaz. Minutes crawled as their vision recovered, but his recovered first. The captain's eyes scanned his lieutenant, his oval face, his chocolatey brown hair and stubble and his blue-grey eyes even through the squinted eyelids. To him, he was a beauty to behold. His slim figure along with curves from his bottom brought much more appeal and popularity than his cheeky personality.

Price's head started to swim; _Wait? Am I supposed to still depressed from MacMillan's death? He was my first love after all. Why am I not in a deep hole by now? Is it because of Gaz? I laugh at his jokes as much as the other guy, but is that at all? Was it his looks, so much so that the FNG's consider him their wet dream? We fell together; me to him because MacMillan died and him to me because of Riley's leave and trauma. Is that it? Gaz nags at me, or makes offhand comments, but why doesn't that piss me off like when another soldier does it? Has the regiment noticed that we protect each other more? Do they notice that I keep him closer to me ever since MacMillan died? Am I in love with such an Adonis that I even kneel to him? What am I going to do? I'm not going to survive when we separate-_

"Oi, Price," Gaz poked his head with his index finger, "You working in there?"

The reaction was knee-jerk. Price cupped Gaz's face with both hands and planted a kiss on his cheek. Both were flushed and stared intently at each other. Soldiers never acted like this, especially since they were high caliber. More minutes crawled again as eyes tracked each other, until Gaz opened his mouth.

"Why..." He sighed, chortling and putting his arms around his flushing leader. In return, he planted one on his forehead.

"I love you, Gaz. I love you, Leftenant Smitter." Price's breath rattled. Both his heart and body shook as he held his younger now-lover onto his lap. He peeled off his hat, kissing him directly on his lips.

Gaz was surprised that his lips weren't dry. He liked the tickling feel of the mustache, and reciprocated by hugging him tighter.

"I love you too, Captain John Price," He emphasized every title. Both were in euphoria they held each other close. They continued kissing, tongues exploring deeper every time. Gaz cherished the mustache. Price cherished the look of purity he emulated.

Maybe the silence and the cold didn't bother Gaz anymore. Maybe they held more than they appeared to.

* * *

December 18th, 2010 (1)

London

Gaz plopped down on the couch with his parents. Both were ragged from work, but they were beaming because their son had come home and it made their Christmas cheerier. His father had the same cheeky smirk carved on his face as they watched the Telethon in America. His mother, now even more plump, had also a carved smile on her face. All three were home for the holidays.

It was a Kodak moment worthy of Facebook.

The telephone rang over the jingles of the telly. Gaz, like the good son he was, picked up the phone from the edge of the arm. An English voice brayed over. He pulled it away and said a chirpy, sweet greeting, then pulled it back to his ear again.

"Bloody hell! Riley went batshit insane! It's all over the news! You should see it!" Price was half freaking out and half yelling over his ten siblings and his parents.

"No! No! You're kidding!"

"The hell I'm not! Click to CNN, click to BBC, click anywhere! Change the channel!" Gaz slammed the phone down. Mr. and Mrs. Smitter glared at him.

"Mom, dad, may I change the channel?"

"Yes, it's on commercial anyways," Mr. Smitter exhaled and threw his hands up in the air. Gaz grabbed the remote and clicked the Channel + button until it reached the BBC news channel. The remote dropped.

Sights of Christmas lights on the Riley residence were splattered with blood. The house itself had become more run down than usual. Ambulances and cop cars littered the driveway and yard. The cops were pulling out a bloodied man in a Ghost ski mask. His loud obscenities and sobs were a clear trait: it was Simon himself. He was struggling, writhing and snarling at anyone, especially the cops. Headlines of "FORMER SAS MEMBER MASSACRES FAMILY" were plastered everywhere on the screen.

"Inside the house were a small boy, two women and a man..." The news lady's voice droned over the dark and bloodied footage. The snow even had blood and black specks, probably bullets. Gaz's parents' jaws dropped over the apparent tragedy.

"No, Simon, you can't... You didn't... You'd never, bloody ever..." Gaz whispered, emotionless.

* * *

Christmas 2010

The holiday was quiet. The decorations created more glare than light, so Mr. Smitter turned them all off. The family barely ate dinner, nor even prayed. The presents were untouched. Silence created gloom, and gloom created guilt.

* * *

Day 4, 2011; Hours after Price's Flashback

Dark dawn blanketed everywhere. The fields, the farm, especially the shack Bravo Team rested in. Price's tale was already told, and everyone else was sleeping. Telling it wasn't any easier because he was dead. Stone cold from radiation. The reminder of who was already gone made him mope. Gaz felt uneasy.

"Price?" He whispered.

"You should sleep. It's going to be stressful the next day," Price was begging him.

" MacMilllan..." He sighed.

"What about him? I already told you this story before I told the others," The captain released an exasperated sigh.

"It just reminds me of..." The lieutenant's dimples drooped down.

"I know. But you have to remember... A botched mission is a botched mission and a murdered family is a still a murdered family. The blamed man is a fugitive, cousin or not."

"But, Price..." He knew he could never win the argument, "I still firmly believe he didn't do it. He loves me, my parents, his mother and brother, and his brother's family. God knows he's probably fighting somewhere, probably smoking a fag as we rest. Who the hell am I kidding?" He buried his head in his hands.

"It's unhealthy to mope about others who are gone. I know the story of MacMillan may have reminded you of Riley, but we got the present to deal with here," He began to clasp Gaz's hand firmly, "It's better to have anticipation of what's going to come."

Gaz leaned his head on Price's shoulder. It wasn't years ago the Riley "massacre" happened, but they both knew they needed more than both humor and love to handle the future.

* * *

Day 6, 2011

Everything had picked up. Not exactly. There was a new FNG in tow and forty-thousand nukes were at stake. Price's team had recently escaped a nuclear reactor and were madly driving around, in specifics, he was the one driving madly.

"Soap! Hind six o'clock!" Gaz barked at the FNG. _Price should be driving, not me!_

Soap grabbed an RPG and wobbled around aiming it. Driving made aiming all the harder, but he was willing to do it, not because he was told to, but because he had to and he knew it. Price grabbed his M4A1 and gave crack shots to anyone in another vehicle.

"Hind six o'clock!" An US Marine, Staff Sergeant Griggs, barked at Soap. The Hind wasn't shot down yet. Soap was still trying to aim and missed every time he fired.

"I'm on it!" Soap's Scottish accent screeched as he was knocked down by another swerve.

Everything was high stakes. Price, Griggs and Cook were all shooting Zakhaev's private army left and right. They were also mobile in their trucks. It was a simple clusterfuck. The tunnel made it worse. Gaz gripped the wheel and concentrated on maneuvering the jeep so that Price and the others had a view and it was fast enough to pass the Russians. He could never drive like this in London; he was maxing at 150 km (2) and those pesky assholes kept on coming.

All of the tried their best. Time crawled as they eliminated all of the Russians or bumped their trucks away. The crumpling of metal blanketed the crash of the RPG against the Hind. Soap finally did it. He made it-

They were out of the tunnel, light blinding their sights. It was much more open, more breathable. And they were wrong...

Before Soap shot the Hind, its missiles hit the bridge. The jeep screeched and stopped at the very end of the tunnel. The concrete bridge roared and barked as it split and cracked. The wire inside creaked along with bridge. Piece by piece it all fell. Everyone leapt out except one. Soap was in a daze and could barely wake up.

"The bridge isn't going to hold! Move, move, move!" (3) Price barked at him.

"It's about to collapse! Get your ass outta there!" (4) Griggs did the same.

It didn't take long for the FNG to process that everything was going to shit so fast. His vision clicked back to clarity in no time as he leapt along with the others and ran with all the possible weaponry he could hold. Gaz was ahead of all three of them. _Soap should be able to do this. What am I kidding? There's a truck and tanker and what the hell does that equal-_

More trucks began moving in as Bravo Team held ground at the stable parts of the bridge. It was not one truck, but two or three; and they all blocked the rest of the bridge. The situation tumbled back to the start: surrounded, outnumbered and frustrated. Price, as always, gave more crack shots while the others held out. At least Soap COULD hold his own during something like this. Everything was a mess of bullets, grenades, blood and shrapnel between the team and the trucks, not mentioning the helicopters that dropped even more soldiers for them to deal with. Excellent mission indeed.

"Baseplate this is Bravo Five! We are under heavy attack at the highway bridge at map grid 2-4-4-3-5-2. Request helicopter gunship support! Over! (5)" Gaz simply had it. There has to be reinforcements. Moreso, he simply worried that ammo was going to run out. Griggs knew his weather; and it was hot. To him, this fight was getting ridiculous, and he only hoped Price thought the same.

"Workin' on it Bravo Five. Loyalists forces in the area may be able to assist but we cannot confirm at this time. Baseplate out (6)," Baseplate fizzed in. Gaz cursed loudly in reply. Price didn't like the results either.

"We're on our own, sir! (7)" He yelled loudly to the captain. Blanketed groans sounded through the team. Everything was futile, oh the limits of ammo and willpower. Griggs was on his last magazine for his M249. Soap looked like he was about to stop and sob. Cook started stuttering profusely under his breath. The sun burned down on them.

* * *

2008, Discussion with Kamarov

"Listen, Gaz, I heard about something developing with you and your captain", Kamarov butted in, proceeding to knock the other's thigh with the butt of his rifle.

"Fuck off, you wouldn't bloody understand!" Gaz shook his head and tried to dash away. Kamarov only caught up with him.

"Listen, I have nosy relatives too. They all TRY to get on my computer and into my drawers-"

"Stop trying. It's not that. It's nothing of your bloody business anyway."

"Your captain says you have a young cousin who likes to mess with you. Maybe I can talk with him-"

"Don't. He can beat you shitless even without weapons. Price and I are just FRIENDS. Repeat me, friends."

"I want to help you people."

"You can help us by giving back where it really matters. The relationship is nothing. You owe us anyway...Remember Beirut?"

* * *

Day 6 Continued...

Price knows it's natural for something to go wrong on a mission. Life situations were not ones to occur in habit. But there are solutions to every problem, right? He knew that was certain. What was not certain, however, was the full blown attack on hand. By this time, reinforcements would have arrived. By this time, those bloody helicopters would have been shot down. By this time-

Was that fire? _No, it can't be._ Did something smell? _Don't tell me it's gas, the metal's supposed to be thicker than that. _Did some _shrapnel_ fly? Price questions why he had fallen and why he couldn't get up. He tried to lift his chest up, but numbness was _literally_ everywhere from the neck down. No part moved, no matter the will.

Soap wasn't moving, either, but Griggs was dragging him out. _From behind the car? No, you stupid Yank, just no!_ Luckily Soap opened his eyes, but he was barely responding.

Until a bullet hit Griggs, with blood shooting from his neck. Both his body and his SAW collapsed with a dull thud. That was when Soap's eyes snapped open. He then gave a slow but sure crawl towards his captain.

Both captain and sergeant looked onto the most forward person out: Gaz. He was right within Imran Zakhaev's range. The man's beard and lame arm didn't fool either of the two. He could still fight and he would.

He brought his Desert Eagle up to the back of Gaz's head and pulled the trigger.

Blood burst onto his hand. His fall was soundless. No scream, no protest, no move.

To Price this was terrifically mind-blowing. He'd always dream of his precious lieutenant dying in a blaze of glory. Not like this. Not simply shot like an animal. A man that always shouted, always stood up, always did something... He was now silenced, shoved down and uncontrollably passive. The Captain knew it was inevitable, but the Sergeant found it a tragedy.

Soap found Gaz a great friend willing to laugh and mingle. Gaz basically re-taught Soap the basics. He was a trustful man worthy of advice. Price found himself not lost just like at MacMillan's death, but focused because of tranquil rage and seething grief. It was more than adrenaline.

No weapons were found to shoot the adrenaline. Their emergency weapons were the only ones at hand. Everyone was dead now: Cook, Griggs, Gaz... Both men swore that all three will not go in vain. Soap strained up, and Price had an idea.

Putting all the swirling emotion into kinetic energy, he knew the best thing to do: push with said emotion, his pistol, as hard as he can, to the FNG. No, Soap didn't deserve that title anymore.

After catching it, aiming it, and pumping three shots forward. One for Zakhaev, one for a guard, one for the other. All three fell equally onto the ground, where they belonged.

The ground was now pulling Price in, and all the seething rage faded with his conscious. He slowly slumped to the ground. Kamarov's voice blared through.

Soap stayed longer, looking around with bleary eyes to see Russian Loyalists rush and scatter amongst the force, not looking what was left of it anyway. A medic was pounding on Price's chest, swearing in Russian at the loudest volume he could scream out.

Suddenly, Kamarov's visage covered up Soap's vision. Though his senses faint, he could still hear the reassurance, "You are going to be alright my friend! (8)"

After seeing the helicopter above, his vision faded to white.

For Price, he was kicking and screaming in the dark, not knowing he would be doing that for five years straight.

* * *

2016, Task Force 141 HQ

A statuesque tall man with a black balaclava with a skull on it walked to a blindingly, white cramped office. Brown eyes furrowed and darkened as he held his fingers to his temples. This was Ghost now, not Simon Riley of then.

He finally found the killers of his family and cleared his name, all in town-hopping bloody execution of sorts. It was his excuse to be in the Task Force. His headphones gave a slight squeeze to his head as he stood in front of an equally statuesque man.

This man held papers with a firm grip. Stubble scattered throughout his chin area and the only area left for hair was styled into an iconic mohawk. This was Captain Soap MacTavish now, not the lowly FNG Sergeant Soap from five years ago. It took a while for him to accept the tragedy of war, especially in the form of a cold execution. He cared about those 50,000 lives lost and multiples more saved, but his grief went into only two. As a captain, he found it a lesson, but sometimes he found himself thinking of that moment, that time, that...

"What is it Ghost?" Soap spat out. He gently laid the papers down, perfectly lined.

"It's Roach," Ghost groaned, "That bug always wants to play detective. He's so fucking nosy." He lifted his head up.

"Roach is an FNG, he's young. I'm sure he likes doing his own thing. Just give him a chance," The now-captain sighed.

"I know. I know. That bastard decided to cross a line here..."

"Ghost, calm down. I don't like people poking around my life either."

"But that li'l bug HAD to push it... He HAD the BALLS to ask me if I was related to this guy!" Ghost slammed his hand on the desk and shoved his iPhone into Soap's face.

The picture on the device was of a lazy-eyed man: white, dark umber hair with stubble sitting back while on top of a bundle of blankets. He looked very attractive to Soap. The captain pulled out his own iPhone and looked through his own pictures. He compared pictures and his face crinkled, furrowed and relaxed while focusing. Ghost stood staring down on him.

After a few minutes, Soap made a conclusion, "I knew this guy. I was in the SAS with him... Gaz is it?"

"You knew Gaz... ?" Ghost whispered in awe.

"He taught me... And I want to ask... I'm sorry to repeat Roach's question, but... Were you related to him?"

"Ugh," Ghost buried his head into his hands, "I can't consider that semi-rich bastard my cousin anymore. I'm gonna guess that you think I'm like him, but I'm not. I really am not." To Soap, everything connected. The voice, the mannerisms, the location of his birth...

"Ghost, you can tell me," He grabbed a chair for his lieutenant to sit. "I'm your captain, your best friend. Nothing will ever escape this office; it's all gonna be confidential, understand? I don't want you like this. Just tell me what's wrong." Both iPhones lay still on his desk.

"Listen, you know how my family was massacred? While that crap hit the fan, Gaz was making out with his captain. He didn't give a shit and he didn't bother to help find Roba or Vernon!"

"Ghost, Gaz genuinely cares for you. He was just busy."

"Oh did he? Busy? Making out with that old Captain is probably what he did! No calls, no texts, no nothing! He didn't do jack shit. I thought his family was obligated to help... I thought that included him."

"Listen, the second day I talked with him he sounded really sad. I saw him clutch his iPhone and had his head down. He whispered about not having someone call him back. I think he was trying to call you. YOU. He said that his 'little cousin' was not picking up. He thought that you were DEAD. Dead, Simon Riley. Fucking dead. I even have a message on my mobile to show you."

"What the-" Soap's iPhone, held in a fist, was shoved straight to the center of his chest.

"Read it."

Ghost walked out, forlorn. He ignored Roach, Meat, Royce and the others for his room. He slowly pushed the door behind him, creating slow, deliberate creaks. He tapped the screen and the notes app showed, yellow paper with red lines running left and right.

_Simon, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I have been messing around and that I have abandoned you. I didn't. At least once or twice a day, I have tried calling you, texting you, or even using an actual computer to find you. I heard about your promotion into the Task 141. I'm very proud of you. You have the audacity to not become what your past and your pains entail to be. You have put it in action and I can't even imagine how you even made into the SAS into the first place. _

_ Since, you left, though, I have wonderful news to share. I became Price's lieutenant... and then you can say "I told you so", I... I became his lover. It's just that we were best friends and MacMillan's death and your leave... well, that smashed us together. Captain Price is a wonderful person whom I can talk and listen to, even though I might not understand his intellectual references (Stupid me). He is great leader, a humble man to keep everything in check, but he will not open up very easily. It took much convincing to open up the computers and use the intel to __track you down. It's all very difficult of the things I do for you. You are my cousin and I'm obligated to help you. I've worked endlessly and even at nights to find the men who killed our family and to guide you in the right direction. It's sounds like I'm abusing his intel (Ha ha), but the old man's strict. But we have a very nice relationship and he cares for me._

_ On that note, make yourself a good friend. Remember those etiquette lessons? Put them to use! I might sound like a naughty whore, but sometimes you gotta open your legs for authority. I shit you not, it'll get you places. Look at bloody me! _

_ Okay, okay... That was too bloody much. Life just becomes better, I'm sure of it and you know it! Don't dwell on your past too much and I hope you have a captain that loves you as much as mine does. Keep your head high and your mind open. _

_ And if I die, most likely I'll be watching. If that's not possible, I'll keep you in mind. I'm proud of you and I love you, Simon Riley._

_ Your cousin, Gary "Gaz" Smitter_

Ghost took off his mask and closed his eyes...

* * *

After "The Gulag"

General Shepherd left and now Soap, Price and Ghost were sitting at the table together. Soap tried to introduce the two together. He tried spinning words together, "Um, Price, this is Ghost..."

"Soap, I know him..." Price eyed Ghost, penetrating his sunglasses.

"Wait, you..." Soap gasped.

"I'll tell you when all this is over," Price smirked.

"Well then, Ghost... This is..." Soap motioned to Ghost.

"Can it, I know him. And I know his type pretty damn well," Ghost stared right back at Price.

"Well, I'm leaving. I'll let you guys acquaint yourselves," Soap shuffled out.

It was a long, tense, staring contest between the men. No one talked, and no one averted their gaze to the clock. Both men had experienced changes, but one thing was still the same: the same apprehension met over a decade ago. Price had simply grown older and was falling towards insanity because of the Gulag. Ghost had a different story. He went through an arduous journey finding the killers of his family and faked his death to get away from authorities. It was dirty job, but yet it felt so clean at the end...

"So, how's your family?" Price asked.

"What the hell? They're fucking dead! I didn't expect the gulag to make you that slow!" Ghost barked in shock.

"For your information, I haven't slowed down a bit. Maybe you have after..."

"Don't go there, you son of a bitch!" Ghost stood up and threw a slew of punches. Price dodged them all, movement being although jerky.

"Where the hell are your manners?" Price grabbed Ghost's forearm. He could see the subtle smirk in the former captain's face.

"Bloody wanker..." the feeling of being proved wrong was always something Ghost disliked. With an unseen scowl, he let go of Price's hand. He didn't like school, or teachers, and Price was starting feel like that one teacher who always got on his nerves for being different. It was one of those moments. Ghost wanted to wish him away, but he knew he would be holding on to the freedom here. Somehow reasoning like this always beat him.

Both men sat down and stared at each other again. Once in a while an awkward "What's up?" or "How are things?" popped out from one of them. Fingers twitched and eyes averted to the clock. Eleven years was a long time running. Price didn't take off his beanie and neither did Ghost with his balaclava. The situation was different, but the terms between them were the same. Even after eleven said years and Gaz's untimely death.

Ghost decided to clear the air, "Mexico was ugly. Just horrible."

"Hm?" Price's interest was piqued. In a good way, luckily.

"The mission was great—until my allies were getting killed off one by one. And the fact one guy was a mole; I can never in my life forget him: his name was Roba and was one of the most slimiest motherfuckers I've ever seen. He captured us, or whatever was left of my unit, to this dark, burned, aged jail. He tortured us with hooks, beatings and fantastical bullshit. He brainwashed us to join his side, to work for his damned, dirty drug cartel."

"I'm sorry," Price blinked breathlessly. He never knew the extent of Riley's casualties until now.

"But _I_ made it. _I _somehow kept myself in the midst of all the pain and all the lies. Maybe it was my childhood, my devil of a father but my angel of a mother. Maybe I just simply had to live, even when I thought I didn't have any reason to. When I finally escaped, Roba managed to bury me. Alive. I used a major's jaw to dig myself out... A jaw of bone, mind you."

Price wordlessly blinked again.

"Looking back now... I think it was better for me to be there than Gaz. He would've died, or worse... raped or pulled into prostitution... I know he's proud of me despite the lack of contact we've had after."

"I was right," the former captain whispered to himself, "Even though it was for the most selfish reasons. I knew I couldn't put your cousin on the line. As tough and capable as he is, he doesn't have that strength you've had. Maybe _it is_ your childhood. Something like that would've broken him; he's emotional, he's talc. You, on the other hand, you're numb, you're diamond."

"I know. But I was devastated when I got the news of Gaz's death. That just numbed me all over... Again."

"I was there when it happened. If he wanted to die on the battlefield, I bet he would've wanted to die with a bang, and maybe I would've just joined him, too. Him laying there when Zakhaev touched his head and pulled the trigger, it was low. Lower than Oedipus consummating with his own mother (9)."

"But God bless us, we can still stand. Better us than children, the elderly or the disabled. Sometimes I think Gaz still stands, somewhere where we don't see him."

"Never knew you were the one to have religious persuasions..."

"Never knew you were the one to act on genuine romantic persuasions for my cousin..."

Both men relaxed their shoulders as they chuckled...

* * *

The Present

"I'm glad you were able to liven up Ghost. When I met him almost five years ago, I recalled that he was kind of sad," Soap commented on the conversation.

"I was just satisfied enough that we weren't hating each other anymore. We were finally talking like civil human beings," Price said in reply.

"Ghost's a good man, I tell you. A good man."

"Despite the nickname, it's no longer the 'Punk vs. the Creepy Old Man' battle. You, as his captain, should take comfort in that."

"Aye, mate."

* * *

After "Endgame", Medical Shack

"Ghost... Ghost," Soap painfully moaned his name. He lay on the bed as Russian medics rushed in and out of the room. Price had taken notice of the multiple bandages and tubes surrounding Soap. He also had an IV needle stuck in his crease of his elbow. Machines beeped and lit in synch as they took note of his vitals.

The old captain knew his words couldn't reach his former sergeant. On the helicopter he had been babbling endlessly about the Task Force, especially Ghost and Roach. He had requested Nikolai to turn back to Russia, only to be denied every time. He probably cried while hysteriaclly reminiscing about Ghost, but Price couldn't tell. In that way, Soap became Price.

He knew in the nurse's office he acted nearly the same way for the first few weeks. In the Gulag, there wasn't women. The only nurse was a fraud-doctor that was old enough to be Soap's age. He had a sadistic streak also, slapping him every time he went into a lovesick breakdown. Oh, the woes of a captain to his own company. At least he had only a few key soldiers taken out. For Soap, it cost his entire team. One of the members name have been echoing throughout the shack.

He then reached his hand on Soap's shoulder, knowing it probably was the best he could do . Soap sensed and turned his head painstakingly so he could have a direct look. Price could see the slow, crawling pain.

"Ghost and I had it rough..." Soap hoarsely croaked, "We were smashed into the One-Four-One together... by that bastard Shepherd himself. We were given little orders, but we had to make a team. It was settled for many years like the SAS. The Task Force was new... We made the rules, we made the drills, and even the paperwork, ugh, the paperwork..." He was shallowly panting after.

"Soap, being a leader is not easy, no matter whether or not the group is new. Gaz and I had problems leading the Two-Two (10). It was hard for Gaz to make the regiment take him seriously, given the joker reputation. Sometimes working under tradition is hard, because it enacts limits, but we got by. Look what you have become."

"A former captain that's labeled a war criminal and on the run?" Soap scoffed, then coughed a splatter of blood.

"But a good one, that's for sure," Price boasted.

"Ghost and I... We never had a gentle relationship. We never had luxurious pasts..." A soft rant.

_Oh dear, he's taken his own leftenant as his own lover, too?_ Price lifted his hand off of Soap to think, cupping his face. _I'm too damned tired, maybe I won't blush at the thought._ He decided to lie, "For one thing, I like to keep my love-life and my military life separate." _Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Price. Don't mention Gaz "that way"._

Soap whipped his head and opened his jaw, "Just popping my neck." A dry clack followed. He didn't turn back.

"I didn't mean to be insensitive..." Price sighed, "I just meant that I didn't want romance to interfere." To him, he _knew_ he offended him. Soap was young and he was old. Soap was out for love and he was out of love. He just didn't want to have anything to do with love, especially after Gaz's death and the Gulag.

"This isn't the fifties, old man," Soap was stern, "I can love whoever and the world can just kiss my ass if they don't like it." Just then, a tall medic came, white lab coat swishing around his calves and a face-mask covering his mouth.

A muffled Russian accent hummed out, "Sir, your friend needs surgery, so I am going to put anesthesia on him," He held what looks like an oxygen mask and turned to Soap, "Do not worry. Just think of this procedure as a dream."

"More like a nightmare," Soap remarked. The mask was settled on him and he instantly went to sleep. As preparations were made, Price slid his palm up and down his tired visage. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

The Present

"...And that's everything." Price concluded with a forced smile. He didn't know whether to be happy Gaz was in a better place or cry because his will to love died with him.

"That was really cool!" Soap shouted, his lungs now fully functional, "I get everything now. I now know why Ghost and Gaz are so similar, I know why they are estranged... Ghost." His enthusiasm came to a halt.

"I know Ghost is gone, but you can't really mourn for the rest of your life. Five years in the Gulag did it for me, but telling you all this is such a great relief. I really thank you for getting me out of there... And also for listening to me." He turned to Soap, procuring the clover, with only one leaf left.

"I love hearing things from you, old man!" Soap then saw a gun and started cleaning it. The older man went out to the porch and descended down the stairs. He felt the weight of each step on his foot.

Again, the field was expansive as usual, green, green stems of grass that reached up to his knee. The flowers danced in the wind while the golden weeds swung in the sunset. With a steady hand, he pulled the last leaf off the clover. He felt each and every fiber separate until...snap. The small leaf was held in place by the pressure of his hand, but he relieved it and the leaf flew towards the sun. Price dropped the stem, only to invisible amongst the monochromatic grass.

He looked up at the sky, and grinned, genuinely...

* * *

**A/N: Again, I made footnotes, so you can see them here. I'm really sorry for keeping you guys waiting for a long time!**

1) Approximate date when Riley's family is massacred. (According to Comic)

2) 150 km = about 93 miles, and that's pretty fast

3-8) Exact quotes from the game itself, especially from the level "Game Over".

9) The reference of "Oedipus consummating with his own mother" came from a Greek play called Oedipus Rex, where the man, Oedipus, was prophesied to kill his father and marry his mother and abandoned. In irony, he lives and does what he was prophesied to do, but in the end, he blinds himself for punishment.

10) Two-Two: British slang word for the 22nd SAS regiment, the unit in which Price, Soap and Gaz served.

**I seriously had to think to write this chapter, and I don't know if I did well. My ideas kept on changing, and so did my interests, so I had to keep making drafts. I also had to sit myself down, because I really like moving about (:P). So... Read and Review!**


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